


The Rules Don't Apply

by Hellhounds_of_London



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hellhounds_of_London/pseuds/Hellhounds_of_London
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale and Crowley stumble across a quaint little town somewhere in the American southwest and decide, perhaps unwisely, to investigate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rules Don't Apply

“Crowley? Crowley, stop humming to your plants and have a look at this.”

“Hmm? What’s that, angel?”

Crowley dropped the plant mister and peered over Aziraphale’s shoulder at his computer screen.

“Remind me why you still haven’t invested in a laptop?” he sighed.

“I don’t trust those tiny machines. Where do they keep all the parts?” Aziraphale sniffed. “But never mind that. Look. I’ve gotten word of a house in America. A sort of haven for angels, if what I’ve heard from my superiors is accurate.”

“Hmph. Your point being?”*

“I researched the town it’s in-- Night Vale, it’s called, I think that’s quaint, don’t you, dear?-- and there have been quite a few oddities in that area.” He squinted up at Crowley. “Look: a house that doesn’t exist, a glowing cloud. Unless I’ve been paying very little attention for the past 6000 years, that isn’t normal.” He frowned. “Does that remind you of anything?”

Crowley shook his head, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Nope. But it’s probably nothing,” he said cheerfully, turning away from the Night Vale Tourism website. “No sense in getting involved.”

“Crowley. Don’t be ridiculous. Of course this is something. How would you feel if you found out that this town was the site of another attempted apocalypse, and we could have stopped it?”

Crowley stiffened, his face turned away from Aziraphale. “That shouldn’t have to be our concern. That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. They already tried again in America, but those two brain-dead brothers and your hopeless nephew took care of it, remember? Why would they try again? It’s too soon. It’s not fair. I’m not ready for this. Why do we have to be the ones who fix everything?”

Aziraphale smiled, recognizing yet another argument he had won. “We’d best get packed. Dress for summer, dear. It gets hot in the desert.”

 

* Crowley had once suggested to his superiors Downstairs that a similar arrangement should be made for demons. His list of ideal locations was (subtly) headed by Las Vegas, but his insistence that “we could all use a break now and again” was met with stern disapproval. He was still resentful.

***

 

One short apparition later, the two found themselves standing on the outskirts of the quiet, buzzing, luminous, gloomy, and altogether paradoxical Night Vale.

“Quaint,” Crowley muttered, still on edge about the threat of a third apocalypse and bitter about being dragged along. “I can just see Gabriel here, sipping a mojito while Armageddon takes place over those sand dunes. Crazy bugger.”*

Aziraphale pursed his lips and started toward the centre of town. Crowley, hissing softly, followed him, shaking sand off of his snakeskin shoes.

  
  


* The last time Crowley had met Gabriel, the archangel had walked in on him and Aziraphale in a rather compromising situation. Knowing full well that Gabriel had realized what was going on far before he had opened the door did not put him in Crowley’s good books. Neither had the snide remarks he had made regarding Crowley’s manhood before Aziraphale ushered him away to conduct whatever angelic business needed conducting.

 

***

 

“Ah. Exactly what we need,” Aziraphale said, stopping in front of a relatively large building with NIGHT VALE COMMUNITY RADIO written across the top in a font that had gone out of style 60 years ago. Crowley stood behind him, glaring up at the sign with his hands in his pockets. He raised one impeccably groomed eyebrow.

“Newscasters. One of my greatest accomplishments. Although,” he said, grinning, “I believe it was you who originally came up with the idea, angel.”

Aziraphale fumed. “Wipe that smile off your face, you old serpent,” he growled, blue eyes narrowing as he spun around to face the demon.

“Credit where credit’s due, my love.” Crowley’s grin faded to a mere smirk as Aziraphale pushed open the door to the radio station, muttering about the Arrangement and “true to the letter, but not the spirit.”

The air conditioning hit them immediately upon entering the building, leading them both to realize how hot had been outside. Crowley breathed a sigh of relief* and stretched a little, already far more content and comfortable than he had been in the heat. They were approached by a smiling intern**who introduced herself as Ida and asked politely what she could help them with.

“Thank you, dear, we were hoping to speak with someone in charge. Perhaps Station Management?”

Ida flinched. “Um, no, I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” she chirped, her toothy smile returning to its full strength. If she was surprised by Aziraphale’s accent, she didn’t show it.

“I- I’m sorry?” the angel stuttered, taken aback.

“Actually, if I were you, I’d talk to Cecil. He does our news broadcast. In fact... what time is it? Yep, eight o’clock! He should just be finishing up his show. If you’d just take a seat in here, I’ll send him right in to you.”

Ida scuttled away, no doubt to complete important intern tasks.

“Did she say it was eight o’clock?” Crowley murmured, glancing outside as they wandered into the room indicated by Ida, which was a sort of lounge connected to a recording studio.

“I believe so,” Aziraphale said distractedly, searching around him for a local newspaper.

“Shouldn’t the sun be... y’know... setting?”

“I suppose so. Is it not?”

“No.”

“Hmm.”

Before they could delve any deeper into their profound theories about the abnormally bright evening, a man entered the room carrying one of Ida’s cups of coffee. He pushed his wavy blonde hair back off his forehead and smiled at them.

“Hello,” he said, smiling. His voice was smooth and sonorous, soothing to hear. Crowley resolved to study the effects of such a voice on the success of temptation. Before he could formulate a grant request letter to Downstairs for his newest research project, Cecil had reached out a hand to shake and had started to speak again. “I’m Cecil Baldwin. I do the news broadcast for the town.”

“Lovely to meet you, Cecil. My name is, ah, Ezra Fell, and this is my, ah, associate, Anthony Crowley.”

Behind his sunglasses, Crowley rolled his eyes at the angel’s poor lying skills. Cecil shook hands with both of them.

“I take it by your accent that you two aren’t from around here,” he said, still speaking as clearly and precisely as if into a microphone. “England?”

“Yep.” Crowley said. “We’re a bit far from home.”

“I toured Europe after college,” Cecil remarked, nodding. “Never made it to England, I’m afraid. Spent too much time in Francia. But I hear England’s beautiful.”

“Well we are certainly attached to it,” Aziraphale beamed.

“So what brings you to Our Fair City of Night Vale?” Cecil asked.

That was Crowley’s cue to snap his fingers and put Cecil in a deep sleep. Unfortunately, his first three attempts to do so failed, leaving both himself and the accompanying angel at a loss, forced to lie believably without the safety net of hypnosis.

“Ah, well,” Aziraphale began, before Crowley cut him off.

“We’ll be frank with you, Mr Baldwin. We’re agents of the international government, here to investigate the strange goings-on in your little town.” He smiled the slightly desperate smile of snake oil salesmen who know what they sell is false. “We’re going to need to know what you know.”

Cecil smiled back, seemingly unaware of their blatant lies and unaffected by Crowley’s frantic snapping of earlier. “Well, gentlemen, we get plenty of government types around here, but none as friendly or open as you two. What exactly are you interested in?”

“Ah, just... ah, perhaps you could tell us about the angel sightings recently?”

“Oh, of course! I’m not the expert-- that would be Old Woman Josie, she’s the one who took them in in the first place, but they came to her a little over a year ago, and they’ve stayed ever since. Of course, the City Council tells us they don’t exist, but honestly, if they weren’t real, explain why the local grocers keep selling out all their avocadoes. Old Woman Josie tells us that the angels that stay with her love her homemade guacamole. Coincidence? I think not.” Cecil leaned back against the couch he had settled on during this speech, sipping his coffee with the wide-eyed confidence of religious zealots and conspiracy theorists. Aziraphale and Crowley sat across from him with mouths open slightly. They exchanged a meaningful glance.

“Is that so?” Crowley said rather stupidly.

“That’s how it has been reported to me, and I try not to distort the news too badly.”

“You seem to be taking this with quite a grain of salt, Mr Baldwin. Not much of a skeptic, are we?”

“Oh, that’s fairly normal for this town, Mr Crowley. We keep open minds about this universe and what lies beyond. Sometimes dangerously so.”

“Um,” Aziraphale squeaked. “Perhaps a better way to approach this would be to inquire about any recent changes in the town. Any, ah, new forests growing... or... or, um...” He racked his brain for memories of the non-apocalypse of 1990. “Um, missing nuclear waste?”

Cecil nodded. “There was the Whispering Forest that showed up fairly recently, but it hasn’t caused too many problems by Night Vale standards.” He paused. “Perhaps what you need to find what you’re looking for is an outsider perspective. Someone who would notice the little things. Luckily, our newest resident is a scientist. He’s been studying the town quite extensively for the past year or so. Would you like me to invite him over to share some of his findings?” he asked, his eagerness poorly hidden.

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged another glance, images of news reporters standing in front of a newly risen Atlantis, missing uranium, and a great sea monster shaking the ocean floor flashing through both of their minds from 23 years previously. During that time, scientists had been the ones collecting and analyzing signs of a young Antichrist’s power. Of course, that work had been completely irrelevant to their actions, aided as Aziraphale had been by a certain book of prophecy, but this time, no such psychic material was in his possession.

Crowley shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “Call him.”

Cecil darted out of the room, already hitting the number on speed dial. Aziraphale turned to Crowley, rubbing his hands together as he always did when things didn’t go perfectly.

“That was informative,” he said.

“Something like that. Are you going to check out that angel resort while he’s gone?”

“I suppose I should. I wonder why he didn’t respond to your hypnosis. That always works on humans, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t think the same rules apply in Night Vale,” Crowley said darkly. “I’m going to explore the station while you’re gone.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips nervously. “Try not to get into any trouble, dear.”

“No promises.”

“Crowley, please. I’m starting to really worry.”

Crowley looked at him over the tops of his sunglasses, then sighed. “Alright.”

 

* Crowley, much to his chagrin, had retained much of his snakelike cold-bloodedness throughout the years, meaning his mood swings in the coldest and hottest months were at times nigh unbearable. Aziraphale attempted to soften these meteorological blows by knitting sweaters for him in the wintertime, but Crowley insisted that the best remedy was being cocooned in angel wings. Despite his tongue-clicking response to these assertions, Aziraphale never refused.

 

** Nothing explicitly stated that she was an intern, but there was something about her that implied unpaid work in her desired field. Aziraphale would later claim it was her professionality and youthful vigor, but Crowley would attribute this subtle vibe to the tray of coffee she was carrying.

 

***

 

Crowley wandered the halls of the station with a sense of disappointment. It seemed quite ordinary. He had passed Cecil giggling like a schoolgirl at something the person on the phone had said. The break room had a couple of interns and staff members and an empty box of donuts.* Nothing strange at all, except maybe some muffled noises behind a door marked STATION MANAGEMENT. He had paused briefly, considering opening it, but had moved on, remembering the concern on Aziraphale’s face. He eventually found the men’s restroom and pushed open the door for a peek. There couldn’t possibly be anything strange about a restroom, so he felt safe exploring it.

 

*At least, presumably they had been donuts.

 

***

 

Aziraphale, meanwhile, had found Old Woman Josie’s house quite easily. It was the one glowing with ethereal light. Having knocked on the door, he stood wringing his hands, unsure of how to make a good first impression. When the door was opened by a towering obsidian figure with glowing, multifaceted eyes covering its entire form, Aziraphale fell to one trembling knee and bowed his head, whispering to himself: “Oh dear. Not seraphim...”

 

***

 

Moments later, he returned to the station, shaken. At the same time, Crowley burst through the door.

“Angel!” he cried. “There are kittens in the bathroom. Kittens. Floating ones. And a big old mama cat. Or dad, I guess. I’m not too clear on that. But Aziraphale, kittens. And one of them has black fur and yellow eyes and I think it likes me.”

“That’s lovely, dear. I’m glad you’re making friends.” Aziraphale sank onto the couch, plump hands trembling.

“How was your angelic frat party? Any signs of impending doom?”

“Ah, well,” he began, “I wasn’t privy to all their secrets. There were mostly seraphim there, and as a mere Principality I’m not nearly to their rank, so I had to sort of stand in the corner by the guacamole bowl... but I did hear something about The Great Battle with the Evil Among Us. At a dog park, of all places.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“I’m afraid I must agree with you, dear. It sounds positively apocalyptic.”

“Shit.”

It was at this point that Cecil rejoined them, tucking his phone into his pocket.

“Carlos is on his way,” he said jovially. “He’ll just be another minute.”

“Wonderful,” said Aziraphale. “Perhaps in the meantime you’d be kind enough to tell us about the dog park?”

“And the kittens in the bathroom,” added Crowley. Aziraphale pursed his lips.

“Of course. Well, Khoshek appeared floating in the men’s bathroom at the station last summer. None of us could remove him, and a while ago, he gave birth to a litter of kittens. None of us could figure out how, or why, seeing as Khoshek is definitely a male and unable to mate with any other cats, as he is floating next to the sink in the men’s bathroom.”

“That’s adorable,” Crowley gushed. “Maybe a little weird, but adorable.”

“Yes, well, disregarding the cat, could we maybe discuss the more pressing matter of the dog park?” Crowley settled back, compliant with Aziraphale’s wishes.

“Oh, the dog park is one of our loveliest and most useful city features. At least I think it is. No one is actually allowed in there except the hooded figures, and I’ve seen angels hanging around there, too. Although,” he quickly checked the recording booth and the door behind him before leaning forward to continue in a whisper, “I didn’t report it to the City Council.”

Before he could elaborate, there was a knock on the door, and a tall, undeniably handsome man wearing a spotless lab coat entered the room.

“Carlos!” Cecil said breathlessly, standing up to greet him.

“Hi,” Carlos said, pulling Cecil in for a quick kiss on the cheek. The angel, British at heart, suddenly felt very uncomfortable with being witness to such wanton displays of affection. Before he could cough nervously or find somewhere else to look, Carlos had turned to greet them. “Hi,” he said again, his arm still around Cecil’s waist as they sat down. “I understand you’ve come for the same reason I did so long ago. You heard about this weird town and decided to investigate on behalf of the government.”

Crowley shrugged. “Basically.”

“We’re specifically interested in any new phenomena you’ve observed, or anything that seems to be increasing in any way, as if... ah, maybe leading up to something,” Aziraphale said.

“Hmm... there have been more reported angel sightings recently, as well as non-reported angel sightings.” He glanced at Cecil, who blushed. “I’ve also recorded an increase in earthquakes that no one can feel, and an overall increase in temperature day by day. I mean, we’re in the middle of the desert, so it’s always hot, but I’ve never seen it be this hot all the time, even at night.” He paused and turned to Cecil. “Anything else you can think of?”

Cecil rubbed his chin. “I guess there have been more people just out in the streets, howling in wordless terror and babbling in unrecognizable tongues. And the dogs are back. Remember the feral dogs, Carlos?”

“I thought the City Council determined those were just plastic bags? Or was the oh-so-infallible Council wrong?”

Cecil rolled his eyes. “Well, they’re out roaming the city right now, befouling our walls with graffiti and threatening our citizens with their lawless ways.”

“These are... dogs, you said?”

“Feral ones, yes.”

Crowley nudged Aziraphale in the side and murmured: “Remember when I told you that that flash little Scottish bastard who stole my name had ‘lost’ a litter of his purebred hellhound puppies?”

Aziraphale went as white as a sheet.

“Gentlemen,” he said to the couple on the opposite couch, “my associate and I have reason to believe that your quaint little town’s in for a nasty skirmish, probably at the dog park.”

“More like a war, really, if we want to get technical.”

“The dog park? But no one’s allowed in there,” Cecil protested.

“I don’t think that’ll stop ‘em,” Crowley said dryly.

Cecil closed his eyes, putting a hand to his temple. He frowned and Crowley and Aziraphale observed his already bright aura flare a deeper purple.

“There does seem to be a large crowd gathering at the gate to the park,” he said, worry coloring his voice. “It doesn’t look friendly.” He rose from the couch, followed by Carlos.

“Wait, you can see it?” Crowley raised his eyebrows. “You’re clairvoyant?”

“Yes,” Cecil said, opening his eyes again. “It’s how I can report on events so quickly on my show. But that’s not important right now. We should get to the dog park.”

As they made their way through the city, Cecil and Carlos taking the lead, Crowley and Aziraphale fell a bit behind to discuss matters.

“Great. Thanks for telling us from the start about your supernatural abilities. Fucking psychics.”

“Really, my dear? The threat of yet another earth-shattering battle between Heaven and Hell, and you’re upset that Cecil didn’t tell us every personal detail?”

“Oh, come on! It’s not like he didn’t mention that he dyes his hair! He didn’t tell us an important fact that could have made things a hell of a lot easier!”

“Perhaps he’s embarrassed. Much like you are about your eyes.”

“I-- that’s-- it’s-- ugh.”

Before he could think of a devastating response, he ran into Carlos’ back. He and Cecil has turned a corner and stopped dead.

“Angels,” Carlos whispered, barely registering Crowley.

Indeed, easily a hundred angels, resplendent in their true forms, were gathered in front of the gleaming black wall. Next to them, but some distance away, were a roughly equal number of hooded figures, shrinking from the light of the angels’ multifaceted eyes that covered their bodies like those of the djinn.

“I knew they were real,” Cecil murmured. “The City Council... is wrong.” He smirked. “I knew it.”

Aziraphale inhaled sharply, breathing for the first time since visiting Old Woman Josie’s. “Shit,” he hissed through his teeth.

Crowley stared at him, eyebrows raised. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear. If we weren’t trying to stop a huge celestial battle,” he said, “I would think that was so hot.”

“Crowley, please try to stay focused.”

“I am focused. I’m just saying-- oh no. No.”

He ducked behind Carlos, whose mind, clinging to the last shreds of reality left after a year in Night Vale, was still processing the appearance of the angels.

“Crowley, what on earth is wrong with you?”

“Shh, Aziraphale. My ex is standing over there in a hood.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Aziraphale, fed up at last with his demonic counterpart, pushed his way past the smug Cecil and his still dazed scientist. As he approached the assembled occult and ethereal forces at the gates of the dog park, he called out to the angelic warriors. “Excuse me! Hello? Down here!”

The massive lead angels turned to him, stretching their wings to their fullest length. Aziraphale was bathed in the soft bluish light of their gaze.

“You have come to join us, O brother,” one of them said. It was not a question.

“Uhm, I’m afraid not. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“You do not wish us to fight against the forces of Evil?” Its voice was as clear as a church bell.

“Well, look. I understand that Heaven and Hell must maintain a complex and carefully balanced relationship based on mutual enmity, but, as my... acquaintance here--” he turned and beckoned to Crowley, who shook his head desperately and drew his finger across his neck. But Aziraphale put his hands on his hips and Crowley slunk out from behind Carlos, avidly staring at his feet.

“Wait a second,” Cecil said, speaking at last. “Does that mean that you two are angels?”

“No,” Crowley snapped. He acknowledged the hooded figures, who had been listening intently to Aziraphale. “Hey guys. How’s it going? Yeah, it’s good to see you too. Cool. Okay. Glad we caught up.”

“Oh,” Cecil said. “That makes much more sense.”

“You can understand this insanity?” Carlos cried, finally shaken from his disbelieving stupor.

Cecil sighed and began to explain the now-apparent Satanic origins of the hooded figures and the significance of both the angels and the hooded figures being in close proximity to each other. Meanwhile, Crowley and Aziraphale were standing shoulder to shoulder, facing the mighty angel at the head of the garrison.

“As I was saying, my acquaintance and I have found it to be much more beneficial to, well, to not actively destroy the earth, but also to recognize the other and try to, at the very least, to... uhm...”

“Stop. Talking.” Crowley muttered out of the side of his mouth. The enormous angel in front of them was shaking its head and frowning. “You’ve made it mad.”

“You misunderstand our intentions, brother,” it said. “We are not gathered here to make war with the creatures of the underworld.”

“...Oh?”

“What?”

Before they could ask for clarification, a hush fell over the entire block. All eyes (and hoods) turned to face... someone. He-- for it was definitely a he-- was wearing a tan jacket and was carrying a deerskin briefcase. He stood at the end of the street, directly across from the dog park. And that’s all any of them could say about him afterwards.

There was the soft rustling of wings and long robes. To the amazement of Aziraphale and Crowley, both of their respective peoples drew together, blocking off the gate to the dog park completely. They, too, were watching the man. For some reason, something about him made them bristle. Down the street, Cecil and Carlos had collapsed against the wall of the nearest building, clutching each other in the unseen face of something unknowable. Throughout the few seconds all of this activity took, man stood there, unmoving. He seemed to be examining the situation. Perhaps he was weighing his options. And then he was gone. It is assumed he left, but none of them could remember how he went, or for that matter, how he came in the first place.

As soon as he was gone, Crowley unclenched his jaw. Aziraphale loosened his grip on Crowley’s arm. They both turned to face the legions of angels and hooded figures that had stood there mere moments ago, but they were already gone.

“Who is that?” Cecil and Carlos, a bit shaken, approached the sole remaining angel and demon at the gates of the dog park.

“No one I’ll be messing with anytime soon.” Crowley took his sunglasses off, a rare occasion, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Wasn’t that incredible, dear? That was the only time, aside from us of course, that I’ve seen our people cooperate.”

“That’s simply wonderful, but I’m less excited about the concept of this great unspeakable evil so horrific that two enemies who have fought since practically the beginning of time put aside their differences to ward it off, and it’s just kicking around residential areas.”

Cecil smiled. “Mr Crowley, I don’t think you get this town. This is Night Vale. We stare unspeakable evil in the face. Even though it sometimes drives us insane.”

Carlos laughed without any humour. “It’s a weird little town.” He pushed his hair out of his eyes, a gesture that evoked exasperation and affection in equal measure. “But it’s fascinating.”

“Speaking of fascinating...” Cecil prompted, nudging him. Carlos bit his lip. “Are you not going to ask them?” Carlos shook his head, silently pleading with Cecil not to continue. “Ugh, fine. I’ll ask them. Would you two be willing to work with Carlos on some of his science? He’d be very interested to learn more about what you two are and what you can do.”

“I’d be absolutely honored to have you as subjects,” Carlos gushed.

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other, matching smiles playing around their mouths. Crowley shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “We could do with a vacation.”

 

***

 

Later that night, once night had finally fallen, they sat on the hood of the rental car,* looking up at a patch of mysterious, softly glowing lights above the sign of an Arby’s restaurant. Cecil had set them up with a temporary living space, and the four of them had dinner plans for the following night. For now, though, they had some time and the parking lot to themselves.

“I’m still in awe of the amazing cooperation between our people today,” Aziraphale sighed, scooting back to lean on the car’s windshield. “I think we could all learn from that.”

“Really, angel?” Crowley purred, settling back to join him and snaking his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Do you think we need to get along better?”

The angel chuckled and rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “Well, maybe not us specifically,” he said. “Just in general.”

They were silent for a moment as Aziraphale nuzzled Crowley’s neck gently.

“You know,” Crowley murmured, “with all the bizarre things happening in this town... I feel completely out-of-touch with the way the universe works. It’s...”

“Terrifying.” Aziraphale finished his thought for him.

The corner of Crowley’s mouth twitched up into a smile. “It must be how humans feel all the time--”

“I love it.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

 

*Crowley had not been happy with the selection of rental cars in Night Vale, but he flat-out refused to stay somewhere for a month without a car.

 


End file.
